Gen blinked. “Shall we what?”
He asked, “There’s dancing. Would you care to dance?”
Outside, the upper-class lords and ladies spun and stepped neatly around the small courtyard. “I don’t know how to dance like that.”
“Come on. I’ll lead.” Arthur picked up her hand from the table, holding her fingertips gently in his, and tugged her a little. He grinned.
Arthur had such a devilish, carefree smile and they had been having so much fun talking that Gen found herself smiling back at him and standing, even though she had no idea how to dance like those guys.
He led her through the crowd, their fingertips still touching.
Oh, no.
No-no-no-no-no.
Gen knew how people waltzed. She’d seen it a billion times on TV and in movies.
And yet it was only just then—as her high-heeled pumps wobbled over the rough cobblestones and they were nearly at the smooth surface of the dance floor surrounded by flame-topped heaters—that she realized, if she waltzed with him, he was going to have his arms and hands all over her, and she would be shoved up against him.
Nuh-uh. She was out.
Gen turned back toward the blazing lights of the hotel ballroom and whipped her hand away from his.
“Gen!” Arthur called.
Nope. Not going to happen.
Gen trotted away, weaving through the thick crowd that was streaming toward the music wafting through the air and the night sky. Fairy lights were strung over the garden, though larger lights illuminated the space and cast sharp shadows on the block wall surrounding them.
“Gen!” Footsteps clattered behind her, and Arthur dodged in front of her. “Wait.”
“I’m just not comfortable with it.”
“I know,” he said gently.
“And I certainly don’t want to talk about it.”
“I wouldn’t ask. I also won’t grab you or grope you. It’ll be just a nice, calm dance.”
Over by the bar, Arthur’s brother Christopher was watching them, his pale eyes almost white in the distance.
She couldn’t make a scene. Christopher would use it somehow, if only to needle Arthur.
She said, “It’ll be weird.”
“It won’t.” Arthur was standing closer to her now, and he touched her fingertips again. “It’ll be quick. If we’re seen dancing a bit, we can make our farewells and leave.”
Gen dithered. Leaving the party sounded great. “What are you planning to do afterward? Have some fun?”
Yes, her tone was sarcastic.
“No. I’m going home for the night.” He raised his hands and wagged his head, grinning. “It’s after midnight. I had a full day of picking out a suit to wear. I’ll drop you off at your place and head back to my apartment.”
“Promise?” she asked him, her hands on her hips.
He raised a hand. “On my honor.”
Gen totally did not know how to interpret that one. Instead of confronting him, she admitted, “I’m a little shpilkes about dancing.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“I think I do understand,” he said. In the twinkling glow from the fairy lights, his eyes looked pale baby blue. “I dated a Catholic girl once,” he said. “She went to a Catholic boarding school in France instead of the Swiss one that I attended. When we danced, she said that we should ‘leave room for the Holy Ghost between us.’ I thought it an amusing statement.”
“Okay,” Gen said.
“And I assure you, I would never clutch a woman or fling her around. At that Swiss school, they did teach us to dance gently.”
Arthur was really serious about this dancing thing. Really serious. He had promised to go home soon afterward, so if she did this, maybe she wouldn’t have to worry about him for the rest of the night.
And she was in desperate need of some shut-eye. Drinking with Lee and Rose last night had been rough. That very morning had been rougher. Far rougher. She hadn’t been hung over like that since university.
She could go home and sleep.
Gen said, “Okay.”
Arthur smiled and turned back to the dance floor. Gen followed.
From across the garden, Christopher watched them walking back toward the dance floor. His colorless eyes didn’t leave them the whole time. Gen finally looked away to follow Arthur through the crowd.
Arthur stood near the fringe of the dance floor, away from the crush near the center.
Gen stepped up close enough and looked up at his eyes.
He held up one hand. “Take my hand.”
She lifted her right hand and gingerly set her palm in his. The flesh on her arm shivered.
He pointed to his other shoulder. “And here.”
She rested her left hand on his shoulder.
He took his hand off her waist for a moment and adjusted the placement of her hand on his shoulder, which seemed odd but not threatening in any way.
“All right,” he said. “Shall we?”
They were so far apart that her arm was nearly straight, and Gen was a tall girl.
He had indeed left room for the Holy Ghost.
And maybe a small elephant.
Arthur raised his other hand. “Ready?”
He was going to touch her body, her torso, practically her skin under the red silk and beads.
Get it over with.
Gen nodded.
Arthur slowly brought his hand around and rested his palm and fingers on her waist. His touch was so light that it hardly moved the silk of her dress, but the warmth from his hand filtered through the thin cloth to her skin.
He asked, “All right?”
She nodded because her throat was so tight that she couldn’t speak.
“One, two-three,” Arthur said, and he guided her hand as he moved into the waltz.
Gen had not been demurring when she had claimed not to know how to waltz. She really didn’t, but Arthur kept their steps small so when she bobbled, she wasn’t far off track. Within a few moments, she glided more easily with him, which meant that the possibility of colliding with his strong chest and ending up with his arms caging her was fading away.
A few moments after that, she relaxed a little more.
“Good?” he asked.
“Yes, better,” she said.
“Good.” He looked over her head. “Bentley?”
Gen wondered if there were a car back there.
Behind her, a man’s voice asked, “May I cut in?”
Arthur looked back to Gen, his blue eyes serious. “They’re friends of my parents. They just want a moment of our time. Are you all right with this?”
Arthur stepped to the side so she could see the couple he meant.
The man was quite a bit older than she was, maybe around sixty. The gentleman had black hair salted with gray and dark eyes, nice-looking and trim.
The woman had silver and gold hair drawn up in a complicated knot on the back of her head and a polite smile. She was probably a few years younger than her husband, perhaps mid-forties, but the filler in her cheeks and her oddly smooth forehead made her look just around forty. In her form-fitting dress, she looked like she might be a runner.
Arthur assured Gen, “It’s just for a moment.”
Her mouth went dry, but she managed to stammer, “All right.”
Arthur’s hand left her waist. Using their joined hands, he spun Gen in a little circle and handed her off to the man, Bentley, who took her hand very gently in his and barely touched her waist.
Maybe it was because Bentley was so much older than she was, over twice her age, or maybe it was because he was about the same height she was, or maybe it was the way he stood far back from her, almost as far as his arms could have reached, but after a few moments of figuring out where to put her feet, Gen relaxed.
Bentley smiled at her. Their eyes were just about level. He said, “So you’re the ‘close friend’ of Arthur’s whom we’ve been hearing
about tonight. So pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”
“Um, thanks. So you knew Arthur’s parents?”
“Yes, they were friends of ours for years. So you’re an American?”
“I’m a British citizen, but I grew up in the States.”
“Lovely. Such an interesting accent.”
He sounded as if he might mean that. “Um, thanks?”
“I’ve always liked a Western US accent. So firm. Ah, here come my better half and Arthur. Lovely to meet you, Gen. Hope you’re having a good evening.”
“Thank you? Nice to meet you, too?” Gen fretted that she had been stupid.
Bentley’s hand left her waist, and he guided her back toward Arthur, who switched Bentley’s wife back to him.
Arthur said, “Lovely to see you, too, Elizabeth. Yes, I’ll ring tomorrow.”
Gen moved back into Arthur’s arms, and again, he barely rested his hand against her side and held her other hand.
She said, “That was weird.”
“Oh, no. It’s done all the time. Very nice that you got to meet Bentley. He’s grand.”
“Sure. Why is it important that I meet your parents’ friends?”
Arthur ducked his head and whispered near her ear. His breath floated over her neck, warm from his lips just an inch from her skin. “If you’re to pose as my girlfriend, it makes sense that I would introduce you around.”
“Haven’t you had girlfriends before?”
“I’ve always been casual in my relationships. None of them lasted more than a month. It’s more fun for everyone that way.”
“Hit and run, huh?” she quipped.
He laughed. “So to speak.”
The dance finished, and Arthur led her off the dance floor. Her whole body sagged with relief when he dropped his hand off her waist.
Arthur glanced back, maybe feeling her deep sigh, but he didn’t say anything.
At the bar, he ordered her another chardonnay in a real glass-glass and another vodka tonic for himself. They talked for just a little while longer, until Gen said, “So, we were going to call it a night?”
Arthur looked over her head. “Yes. I think we should.” He broke a path through the crowd for her, nodding and saying goodbyes to the people he had introduced her to, and they made for the door.
Gen had drunk several glasses of water with dinner and a few glasses of wine on top of those. “I’m going to stop at the little girls’ room on the way out.”
“Of course.” Arthur discreetly waggled his finger toward a set of doors over on the side. “I’ll be at the bar.”
“Because of course, you will.”
“Because of course, I will,” he agreed with her, laughing.
Gen made for the doors, used the facilities, and was washing her hands when Elizabeth, the woman who had cut in while she and Arthur were dancing, came into the ladies’ room. “Oh, hi!”
The woman stood at the next sink over and unnecessarily smoothed her perfect gold and silver hair back into her French twist. Her smile seemed kind and amused. “So, you’re involved with our Arthur.”
Just a babysitter. Gen said, “A little. Kind of.”
“He’s quite a lad, our Arthur,” Elizabeth said.
In the colloquial sense, that meant that Arthur was quite a player. Yeah, this was not news to Gen. “Sure.”
“I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt,” Elizabeth said.
“I won’t, but thanks.” Gen knew better than to have any feelings for a guy like Arthur.
“I feel I should warn you off. Dating our Arthur could be dangerous.”
She seemed so sincere that Gen felt like she should come clean that she was just keeping Arthur from making a fool out of himself for a month or so until his case settled. “It really is casual. I think we’re just having a good time.”
“Well, don’t let it interfere with anything.” Elizabeth touched up her lipstick with more dark rose color.
“Like what?”
“Heavens, I wouldn’t know. You never know what that boy is up to.” Elizabeth’s dark eyes slid sideways, and she looked at Gen through the mirror. Her voice sounded kind when she said, “I wouldn’t want a nice girl like you to get hurt.”
Gen shrugged. “Okay, thanks. But there’s really nothing between us, long-term.”
“Glad to hear it, dear. Lovely meeting you.” Elizabeth smiled at Gen and walked out.
Wow, if even his parents’ old friends were warning her off, Arthur might be even worse than she thought.
Maybe something even worse than her girlfriends, Lee and Rose, had warned her about.
Maybe even worse than the tabloids had reported.
She chuckled at that. It was indeed a good thing that she wasn’t really dating Arthur. Losing her heart to such a cad could only lead to heartbreak.
Gen glided out of the bathroom, secure in her knowledge that she was doing the right thing by protecting her heart, and looked for Arthur.
In the thick crowd, black tuxedos eclipsed flares of bright colors as the people shifted and mingled. The chaos of color disoriented Gen for a minute, and she squinted to look over the top of the kaleidoscopic hues to find him.
She finally saw Arthur over by the bar, standing with one elbow resting on the wood and holding a drink in his other hand. His easy posture and gentle smile looked like he was watching something soothing, maybe a sunset, but his brother Christopher was standing right in front of him.
Ruddy anger contorted Christopher’s face, and the tendons in his neck stood out like ropes. From across the room, it looked like Christopher was speaking loudly, on the verge of shouting.
People standing around Christopher and Arthur shrank back and looked at each other, trying to figure out how to respond to this very un-British display.
Arthur rattled the ice in his glass, sipped, and then cracked a grin and said something to Christopher with one eyebrow raised.
Christopher shrank as if Arthur had decked him and slunk away into the crowd.
As the crowd began to turn away and fill in the space that had bloomed around the two men, Arthur turned and saw Gen standing by the bathrooms. He raised his glass to signal her and sauntered through the crowd toward her.
Damn. Gen wished she could be that cool in court when things got heated. Arthur was the dang Ice King.
She should ask him how he did that.
POLISH HER UP
Gen waited up against the wall, fidgeting with her little purse and trying to straighten her red silk dress weighed down all those sand-sized beads while Arthur made his way across the room to her.
He dodged one last older gentleman, drained the last of what was probably yet another vodka tonic, and set the glass on the tray of a passing waiter in one, smooth move. In that impeccable British accent of his, Arthur asked, “Shall we blow this popsicle stand?”
Gen asked him, “Are you okay?”
“As right as rain.” He offered her his elbow. “And as illuminated as a light bulb.”
Gen laughed. “It’s a good thing you’re not driving, then.”
“Pippa is quite aware of how indispensable she is. If you give her any more notions of grandeur, she’ll insist that I hold the door for her. Now, away to the car.”
Arthur walked perfectly steadily, even providing a steady support for Gen when her heel slipped on the steps.
She asked, “How many vodka tonics did you have?”
“Lost count.”
“More than five?”
He laughed. “I had more than five before supper.”
And then several more afterward with her. “That many?”
“Of course.”
“No wonder you only ate salad for supper.”
“I’m a vegetarian most of the time,” he whispered. “Eating low on the food chain-type of thing. I don’t advertise it.”
“You sure don’t look it.”
“And how would you know how I look?”
Oh, God. What had she said? “
I totally wouldn’t. Never mind that I said that.”
“It’s forgotten. Or I’m having an alcoholic blackout. I can’t tell which. Ask me tomorrow.”
“I can’t imagine how many calories you drank. I count every calorie I eat, even breath mints.”
“I burn it off in other ways.” He winked at her and then raised his hands, laughing. “I’m sorry. I forgot our arrangement. I’m not being a cad. Well, I was. But I’ve stopped.”
“My God,” Gen said. “You’re a drunken, randy English nobleman named Arthur.”
“I am not. I am pure as the driven snow on the Alps in Gstaad.” The Bentley rolled to a stop at the curb, and Arthur jogged around and held the car door open for her. “Besides, I was named that before my mother knew I was a drunken degenerate.”
He shut her door and jogged around the car to get in the other side.
Gen mused aloud, “The only thing worse would have been if you had been named Austin.”
Arthur laughed harder. “Oh, but Austin Powers was a spy. I can’t imagine having a real job and such. Sometimes, I wish I were a spy like Austin Powers or James Bond, even though being an MI6 intelligence officer is very different in real life than is portrayed by those fictional characters. Fewer car chases and diabolical villains. No secret island strongholds at all. More paperwork. So much more paperwork. More memorizing minutiae of who is at what party thrown by whom to report to one’s masters. Mostly dinner parties where diplomats become sloppy after a few drinks and divulge indiscretions, especially around Christmas. Christmas is truly the busy season. But I’m merely an idle nobleman with no redeeming qualities.” He smiled. “Certainly not a spy.”
She laughed at his slightly drunken ramblings. “Oh, Arthur. You’ve got redeeming qualities.”
“If I had any, Christopher’s lawsuit wouldn’t have gotten this far.”
In the back seat of the dark car, driving through London, she slipped her hand under his arm. “I think you’re funny.”
“I think you’re the only one.”
“Elizabeth and Bentley seemed to like you.”
He looked at her from the corners of his eyes. “Where did you hear her name?”
“You said it when we changed partners while we were dancing.”
“Ah.” He leaned back in his seat.
Stiff Drink: Runaway Billionaires: Arthur Duet #1 Page 11